5.15 a.m. snow laying all around a collier cycles homefrom his night shift undergroundpast the silent pubprimary school, workingmens club on the road from the pithead the churchyard packed with mining dead

then beneath the bridge he comes to a giant car a shroud of snow upon the roofa mark ten jaguarhe thought the man was fast asleepsilent, still and deepboth dead and coldshot through with bullet holes

the one armed bandit mancame north to fill his bootscame up from cockneyland e-type jags and flashy suitsput your money in pull the leverswatch them spincash cows in all the pubsbut he preferred the new nightclubs

nineteen sixty-sevenbandit men in birdcage heaven la dolce vita, sixty-nineall new to people of the tyne

who knows who did what somebody made a callthey said his hands were in the potthat he?d been skimming haulshe picks up the swagthey gaily gave awaydrives his giant jag off to his big pay day

the bandit mancame north to fill his bootscame up from cockneyland e-type jags and flashy suitsthe bandit mancame up the great north roadup to geordielandto mine the mother lode

seams blew up or crackedblack diamonds came hard wongenerations toiled and hacked for a pittance and black lungcrushed by tub or stonetogether and alonehow the young and old paid the price of coal